


Cat Claw

by tygermine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: deflower_draco, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/pseuds/tygermine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco agrees to look after Crookshanks in an attempt to bed Hermione. <br/>The only flaw? Well, one should not kill the pet that you're meant to be looking after...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cat Claw

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox. I'm too poor to sue, so don't bother.

 

Hermione fell into her office chair and slumped forward, her forehead resting on the parchments littering her desk, and let out a low groan.

Draco peered over the edge of his typewriter and arched an eyebrow at his partner.

“Do I want to know?” he asked, eyes returning to his keyboard as he continued to type, using his index fingers.

“People are unreliable liars,” Hermione grouched lifting her head to rest her chin on her hand.

“Dean stand you up again?”

“No, I asked Ron if he could look after Crookshanks while I’m on holiday next week with my folks.”

“…and?” 

“Lavender is allergic to cats and so he can’t help.” She sat up straighter and pushed her hair out of her face. 

“Dean should do it, he is your boyfriend, and doesn’t this fall under boyfriend duties?” By now Draco had given up on the story he’d been typing to peer at Hermione.

“He can’t.” She replied shortly.

“He can’t because…” Draco rotated his hand, motioning for Hermione to elaborate.

“Because….because he’s travelling. In the east. The far east. Covering a thing…about…never mind. He can’t do it.” With a frustrated groan, she leaned back in her chair and looked up at the yellowed, water stained ceiling. “Is anyone willing to look after Crookshanks?” 

The rhetorical nature of the question was obvious to everyone in the office except Draco. This was it, this was his chance to win over Hermione. Dean be damned.

He cleared his throat noisily.

“You know, I could look after your cat. If you want. I mean, it won’t be a problem.”

Hermione sat forward and glared at Draco.

“This isn’t a joke, Draco. I need someone reliable.”

Draco looked as if he’d swallowed a fly. “Are you saying I’m unreliable?”

“You’re always late to the office, always late with your stories and half your sources are never verified. You spiked the punch at the Christmas party and you abandoned me when we had to go interview that colony of nudist neo pagans.”

“For the record, I didn’t abandon you, I just got side tracked by the pub we passed. They had a lunch special on and if I recall, the pie, chips and gravy was delectable.”

“And you honestly think I’m going to trust my familiar to you?”

“I’ve never killed a pet in my care.”

“You’ve never had a pet before in your life.”

“So I have an unblemished record.”

“I need a cup of tea,” 

Draco pumped his fist in victory. Whenever Hermione dismissed herself during an argument for a cup of tea, he knows that he’d won. It was her way of retreating without looking like she’d been beaten.

Now, if everything went according to plan, Draco and Crookshanks will be bosom buddies by the time Hermione got back. She’s always lamenting the fact that Dean and her cat never get along and she wishes she’d meet someone who also liked her cat. 

Obviously befriending her cat is far easier than actually asking her out. In fact, anything was easier than asking her out. And not just Hermione, but women in general.

In school Draco never had to worry about the formalities of asking a girl out. They offered and he accepted. However, in post war Wizarding England, dating was as treacherous as having a staring competition with a Dementor. 

So Draco stayed single and celibate.

He had met up with Hermione a few years after school when they were both assigned to cover the back page articles of the Daily Prophet. The kind of stories that usually ended up being front page news on the Quibbler. Hermione scoffed at it and had her eye on the editors chair while Draco just ambled along, handing in stories of potion accidents, odd ball Muggle groups and the occasional Hufflepuff Award – the wizarding equivalent to the Darwin Award.

It was easy work and Draco found that life without ambition was rather pleasant. Ambition, in his opinion, let to scheming, bribery and the next thing you know, you have a house full of mentally unstable sociopaths.

Hermione returned to her desk, two cups of tea in hand. She carefully placed hers on a coaster before handing Draco the second cup.

“Are you serious about watching Crookshanks?” she asked, eyeing him wearily.

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Fine. I’ll see you after work at my flat.”

“I’ll bring the cheese platter,” he smirked into his tea.

 

***

 

Hermione lived on the top floor of a Victorian conversion, just outside Archway. It was a tiny one bedroom flat with wood laminate flooring, numerous skylights in the ceiling and a huge over stuffed couch that took up most of the living space. Crowded bookcases lined the walls of the main room. The kitchen was just some counters against the wall on the far side of the room. 

It was too small for cosy, but Hermione liked it.

She had just placed the bowl of cat food on the floor by the kitchen sink when the intercom buzzed. She lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

“It’s Malfoy,” came the static burst.

She buzzed the door open and unlocked the apartment door. Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs until Draco stood in her doorway.

“It’s ridiculous that you’re not connected to the Floo,” he said, stepping inside and making himself comfortable on a small wooden chair by her pull down kitchen table.

“No fireplace, no Floo,” she said, moving around him to put on the kettle. The kitchen space was a tight fit when you actively try to avoid touching any part of your guest, even by accident.

“You earn a decent salary, even by London standards, I’m sure you can get something bigger.” His eyes kept being drawn to the calendar next to the window by the kitchen sink. It had a picture of a vintage Aston Martin on it. 

“It’s big enough for me and Crooks.” She said, dropping teabags into the mugs before reaching into a cupboard to grab a packet of Jaffa Cakes.

Draco ignored the way her tight, dark purple shirt rode up at the motion. Or well, he tried. There was something tantalising about the narrow strip of skin that peeked at him for a second.

“So, where are you off to for your holiday?” he looked down at his shoes, trying to keep his mind from conjuring ideas about the woman next to him. 

“Mom and Dad are taking me with on a cruise of the Red Sea. Apparently being in my twenties is no excuse to avoid a family holiday.” The kettle clicked off as the water boiled and she filled the mugs. 

“Family holidays are over rated,” Draco leaned back and opened the fridge to pull out the milk. He set the carton on the table while Hermione placed the mugs on either side of the tiny table before taking the second seat.

There was a tightness to her mouth he hadn’t noticed before. Her shoulders drooped and her eyes didn’t sparkle like they usually did.

“Dean broke up with you, didn’t he?” Draco said softly into the quiet that had settled on the flat. The only noise came from the scratching of Crookshanks bowl on the floor as he dug into the cat food.

Her eyebrows shot up and she leaned back. “I…he…it…” she sighed. “He said he needed some space.”

Draco huffed a laugh.

“What?” she tilted her head to the side.

He waved an arm at her apartment.

“Don’t be stupid. There’s nothing wrong with my flat.” She poured some milk into her tea and began stirring it.

“Granger, I’m not going to psychoanalyse you, but anyone can tell you that you keep the tiny flat as a way to keep people out.”

“Shut up Malfoy. Now, there’s plenty of cat food in the cupboard,” she pointed to a cupboard door beside the stove. “Just fill the bowl in the morning and the evening. Fresh water too.”

She pulled a bunch of keys from her jeans pocket and removed two from the keychain. “This is the key to the front door and the main door downstairs.”

He took the keys from her and pocketed them. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.” She leaned back and lifted her hair from her shoulders, twisting it up into a messy knot. As she dropped her hands, the curls fell back to her shoulders. “I still have to pack.”

“I’ll let you get to it then,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing up. 

She nodded. “Okay.”

He turned towards the door, twisting the handle to open it.

“Hey Malfoy.”

He turned his head towards her.

“Thank you. For doing this. I appreciate it.”

With a nod, he left the flat. 

The tea and Jaffa cakes sat on the table, untouched.  

 

***

The next morning, before work, Draco let himself into Hermione’s tiny flat.

He always loved that it smelled of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon and vanilla. It was certainly different to the smells that he grew up with sharing a dormitory with a bunch of boys.

Crookshanks was nowhere to be seen, so after a few attempts at “here kitty,” “come out boy,” “sodding stupid cat,” he refilled the cat’s bowls and left.

His day at the office was slow, with stories trickling in, but nothing that caught his attention. Instead, he spent most of the day with a distant look in his eye, imagining how Hermione would thank him for taking such fabulous care of her pet. The scenarios varied from a fantastic snogging session to full on x-rated with accessories fun.

After work, he stopped in at her flat. He refilled the bowls, so at least the cat had appeared during the day and was alive.

He found himself drawn to her couch, the massive, overstuffed, olive green monstrosity. Draco carefully lowered himself onto the cushions and sat back. It felt like he was sitting in a cloud.

He looked around the immediate area. Next to the couch, on a tiny table that barely held the lamp sitting on it, was a stack of Muggle paperbacks. Curiosity got the better of him and he picked one up. It was a hefty tomb, nearly four inches thick. He opened it and began to read.

After a short while, Draco got the feeling he was being watched. He lowered the book and looked around. There was no one in the flat besides him. With a shrug he continued to read. Again, the feeling crept up his spine forcing his attention away from the book.

He looked around. Still alone. 

Until he looked down.

At his feet sat Crookshanks. The massive, orange feline hybrid was staring up at him with what could only be described as a disgruntled sulk.

“Hey there Crookshanks,” Draco said softly while slowly lowering the book onto the table. “Do you want to come sit up here?” He patted his leg. Cat’s like to cuddle on laps, didn’t they?

The cat tilted his head to the side and then leapt onto Draco’s leg, sinking his claws into his skin.

“OW!” Draco jumped up in surprise and kicked out instinctively. Crookshanks flew through the air, hit a bookcase and flopped to the floor. 

Draco raced over to the cat, the pain in his leg ignored. “Shit, you stupid cat! I didn’t mean to throw you like that. Please don’t be dead. Please!”

He prodded and poked the cat softly, wondering where one would check for a pulse on a feline. His hand rested gently on the cat’s chest, trying to pick up a breathing pattern.

There wasn’t one.

Draco fell back against the back of the couch in shock.

He’d just killed Hermione’s cat.

And his hopes of dating Hermione died with it.

***

Grabbing a pair of oven mittens from a drawer in the kitchen, Draco gingerly picked up the limp body of Crookshanks and looked around for somewhere to dispose of the body. He spied a flowerpot blooming outside the kitchen window and an idea sprung to mind. 

Carefully placing Crookshanks on the kitchen sink, he levered the window open, lifted the pot and lowered the poor dead cat into the rungs beneath. At least that’ll ensure the cat doesn’t stink up the place while he goes to find some plastic, rope and a spade. The flower box left a few inches space above the body when it was refitted, which helped as the last thing Draco wanted was rotting cat innards leaking down the outside wall of the flat.

Shucking the oven mits into the bin, Draco found Hermione’s stash of emergency wine and opened a bottle of cheap Sainsbury red. Sinking into the couch, he took a few deep sips straight from the bottle and tried to calm his racing heart.

He’d just killed the pet he swore to protect. He looked down at his hands, one of which was holding the bottle of wine. He took another large gulp, then set the bottle on the table. Draco had never had a pet to keep alive before and his childhood was more a case of capturing, torturing then killing whatever it was he captured. Nurturing had obviously been bred out of the Malfoy genetics a long time ago.

He found himself irritated by this. Merlin’s balls. How the hell was he supposed to have a family and an heir if everything he touched died? Maybe it would be better to just leave Hermione alone and go hide at the manor until he died a dusty old virgin hermit. Alone, without anyone to bother looking for his body until the manor crumbled around him and they found his dried up corpse centuries from now.

At least then nothing and no one would die at the hands of another Malfoy.

He reached for the wine bottle and proceeded to finished it whilst planning how he’d fill his lonely hermit future.

***

A red wine induced hangover is possibly the worst hangover anyone could ever experience in their lives.

First to go is your stomach. You aren’t sure whether you want to puke or ruin your pants. Your best option is to sit on the loo with a bucket and pray for a swift death.

On top of this, your head feels as if your brain has shrunk and it’s currently sliding around inside your skull, banging itself against the bones with the tiniest movement.

Your eyes seem to be glued shut and your mouth feels as if something from the bottom of a pond died in it.

Add to this the guilt Draco felt from killing Hermione’s cat, and you have a vague idea of how he felt upon waking up the next day.

Once he’d finished throwing up, he crawled into the shower and considered actually washing as opposed to drowning himself. While shakily handling Hermione’s loofah and soap, he realised that her bathroom seemed to have a permanent scent of citrus. He looked at the liquid soap in his hand. Ruby Grapefruit.

Ah, that explained it.

It seemed to quell his nausea and he felt slightly more human than when he first crawled in.

Pulling on his clothes from the night before, he wandered into the living room. His eyes caught the food bowl belonging to Crookshanks and his stomach twisted.

Without  another thought, he Apparated home.

***

Home for Draco was a stylishly large flat in Primrose Hill that overlooked the park. He shared it with Blaise Zabini and all the girls Blaise felt like bringing home.

That morning, Blaise was lounging on the sofa, watching Top Gear reruns, while Draco could hear water running in the bathroom. Obviously Blaise had been entertaining the night before.

To explain the television; a few years ago, Hermione had introduced George and Ron to the brilliant invention that was the television. After numerous tweaks and charms and plain old fiddling, they had made it wizard proof and it was one of the biggest sellers out of Weasleys shop.

Blaise had bought one for the flat and had become addicted to Top Gear, the most repeated show on earth.

He lifted an eyebrow as Draco slouched into the flat.

“Was the sex at least worth the hangover?” he asked, scratching lazily at his crotch.

“At least mine didn’t give me crabs,” Draco said pointedly looking at where Blaise had his hand.

“She’s too classy for crabs.”

“Tell that to her previous one night stand,” Draco shuffled into the kitchen and put on the kettle. He wasn’t going to risk using his wand in his state.

“For someone that got laid, you’re in a seriously shitty mood.”

Draco shrugged while dropping a tea bag into his mug. He considered telling Blaise about the cat incident, but his roommate was not the most sympathetic person he knew.

“Did the infamous Malfoy charm fail to get you laid last night? Is that what this snit is about? Did you go drown the crush you have on Granger?”

Draco paused, kettle in hand. “Excuse me?”

“Oh don’t play coy, your crush is evident to the entire country.”

The water in the bathroom came to an abrupt halt. Draco’s grip on the kettle tightened.

“I do not have a crush on Granger,” he bit out.

“Then why else would you agree to look after her demon pet?”

“Because I’m trying this new thing. It’s called being a nice guy. Maybe you should try it?” He poured the water into the mug.

A leggy brunette with long, straight hair and legs up to her armpits strutted into the living room. She was trying to do up the zip on the side, which seemed to have been split during the previous nights frolicking. She glanced at Blaise, then at Draco before wordlessly heading to the door.

“I’ll call you,” Blaise called at the shutting door. He then shrugged. “With an attitude like that, I’ll reconsider.” 

He motioned with his hand to Draco. “Come tell Uncle Blaisey what has you in knots.”

Draco glared at him, took a sip of hot tea and swore as he scolded his tongue. “I accidentally killed Granger’s cat.” 

Blaise blinked at him for a few seconds before bursting into peals of laughter. “Oh Merlin, Malfoy! You’re never looking after my kids. Ever.”

“You don’t have any kids, which is actually a surprise considering the amount of eggs you tend to fertilise on a frequent basis.”

Blaise just kept on laughing. Draco scowled and sipped his tea.

 

***

“She’ll know it’s not her cat.”

Blaise had dragged Draco to Diagon Alley to find a replacement ginger half kneazle. It was not going well. Apparently, the pet stores kept kittens, not cats old enough to vote, or whatever the cat equivalent was.

Each kitten was either too brown, too ginger, too sweet, too young or just not good enough. Draco’s sinuses were acting up under the fur onslaught and his head was beginning to pound.

“Nonsense,” said Blaise, absently teasing an owl through the bars of its cage with his fingers. The owl kept leaning forward to snap at them, only to miss as Blaise pulled his fingers back before repeating the teasing. “A cat is a cat is a cat. Just get the one that looks the most like the dead one and let’s get out of here.”

Draco sighed and looked over the collection of kittens sleeping or playing in the pen at his feet. They would never pass for Crookshanks unless they dramatically aged overnight. An idea formed in his head and he grabbed the surliest, most ginger tinted kitten out of the pen.

“I’ll take this one,” he said to the shopkeeper.

***

The kitten was sitting in the middle of Hermione’s kitchen, taking in its new surroundings with wide eyes. Draco stood at the counter, eyeing the kitten in turn. He was trying to decide how old Crookshanks was, in order to get the aging spell right. He glanced at the flowerpot, surprised that the decaying smell of a dead cat had not wafted into the flat yet.

“Let’s see,” he muttered, idly tapping the wand against his leg. “Hermione got you when she was thirteen, maybe fourteen. You were already fully grown and about, erm, five years in human time. That was ten years ago, which would make you fifteen in human years.” With a nod, he waved his wand at the kitten and invoked the spell. The kitten let out a squeak as the spell hit it. It grew rapidly into the size of an adult cat, its hair grew longer until it was a large ginger fuzzball.

Draco blinked. The cat was identical to Crookshanks. He pumped his fist in victory.

*** 

The next day, Draco arrived at Hermione’s flat armed with cat burying supplies. He went over to the window sill after feeding Crookshank’s Replacement, and hefted up the flower pot.

Where the body of the late Crookshanks lay was…nothing. Draco felt a panic grow from his stomach and weave its way up to his heart.

Someone stole the dead cat!

He closed the window and Apparated home.

“Zabini!” he shouted as he appeared in his living room. “Zabini!”

Blaise did not respond. With a growl, Draco stomped down the passage to his friend’s room and threw open the door.

There was a blonde sitting astride his roommate, bouncing up and down, her back to Draco.

Her moans coupled with Blaise’s filled the air and strangled Draco. He stepped back into the passage and closed the door quietly.

Merlin’s beard and balls. Did Blaise have no decency? Who had sex in the middle of the afternoon?

Draco locked himself in his room with a bottle of firewhiskey and sulked while trying to stop the images of Hermione riding him in the same manner. He imagined her moans would be more throaty, breathy gasps and mumbled words of love.

He passed out with the echo of her orgasm cries in his ears.

***

As the days crept closer to Hermione’s return, Draco’s stress levels kept creeping up. The new Crookshanks was proving a bit of a handful. Draco had arrived at Hermione’s flat one afternoon to find that the devilkittenspawn had not only ripped the olive couch to shreds, but had lined up four dead pigeons under Granger’s bed. Draco spent ten minutes swearing at the cat before fixing her couch and cleaning the mess from under the bed.

He then sat down with a glass of wine. The cat jumped onto the coffee table and began a staring competition with Draco. He leaned forward, his face a few inches from the furry beast.

“Now listen here you evil little shit. You are going to be the best behaved cat in the world when Granger get’s back. You are going to purr and cuddle and love the shit out of her. You will pretend to like me when I come over. No more ripping up the furniture and no more dead pigeons. Do you understand?”

The cat meowed and softly pawed at Draco’s nose, before making some obscene noises and promptly throwing up a hairball onto his shoes.

With a sigh, Draco cleaned the mess with his wand and drank the rest of his wine. He was suddenly glad he did not have a pet of his own.

 

***

Hermione arrived home a few days later sporting a peeling nose and painfully red shoulders and cleavage.

“Don’t laugh,” she growled, gingerly lowering herself into her office chair with a wince.

Draco bit back a laugh and tried to look contrite, but it was much too funny to ignore. He pursed his lips and reached across the desk to lightly tap her hand. “I’m sorry you’re such a bad witch, you forgot what a sun protection charm is.”

Hermione glared daggers at him. 

Draco felt a twinge of guilt at his words. The lead ball of dread in his stomach aggravated it. He bit his lip and stared at his typewriter. This is the moment where he should apologise and ask her out to make up for his callousness. He squared his shoulders and looked up at her as she absently blew some curls from her eyes and began going through her pile of correspondence.

“What?” she bit out.

“What what?” he replied.

“You’re staring Malfoy. It’s not polite.” She kept her eyes on the letters in her hands.

“I’m not staring. I’m thinking.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“…of things. You know, stories and such. No staring from this side of the desk. I promise.” He hunched his shoulders and began to furiously type, well, as furiously as one can when you only type with your index fingers.

***

The next day, Draco walked into the office to find Hermione sulking behind her typewriter, idly pressing keys at random.

“You all right?” he took his seat and sipped on his tea.

She frowned before answering. “Something is wrong with Crookshanks.”

Draco choked on his tea.

After couching up what felt like half his lung, Draco wiped the tears from his eyes and looked anywhere but Hermione’s face. “w…what d…do…you…uh…mean?”

“I had sashimi last night for supper and usually Crookshanks loves getting spoilt with a piece of tuna sashimi. But last night, he sniffed at it, then batted it around the kitchen floor like a hockey puck!”

Draco nodded, pretending to know what a hockey puck was.

“And then,” Hermione continued, “he jumped onto my lap, head-butted me then threw up a hairball on my slippers.”

“And that’s odd?” Draco loosened his tie.

“Of course! Crookshanks has never had a hairball in his life!”

“Maybe he’s…you know…getting old and senile?” Draco wanted to crawl under his desk and have the ground swallow him up.

“That’s ridiculous, he’s only…” she trailed off, calculating her cat’s age. She paled under the red sunburn on her cheeks. “Oh my, he is old.”

“See, it’s all perfectly natural.” He focused on his notepad with the intensity born from the desperation to not say anything untoward.

“Come over tonight and see,” Hermione said. “Bring some wine to replace the bottles you nicked while I was away.”

With a nod and a blush, Draco put his head down and got to work.

***

As Draco entered the flat later that evening, carrying a shopping bag containing not only replacement wine but a few snacks and treats he knew Hermione liked, an orange torpedo hit his legs, causing him to stumble. He caught a hold of the doorframe and clung to it while Crookshanks 2.0 rumbled like a tractor and dragged itself against his legs.

Hermione turned from the kitchen sink where she’d just popped open a bottle of wine. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight. Draco was grumbling at the cat, trying to nudge it away from his feet. With a sigh, he placed the groceries on the floor and scooped up the cat, who in turn, turned his purring up to eleven.

He caught Hermione eyeing him.

“What?” he tickled the Not-Crookshanks under the chin.

“I…um…he’s…” her eyes narrowed. “Draco Malfoy, did you brainwash my cat into liking you while I was away?”

Draco looked at the cat then at Granger. “How on earth does one brainwash a cat?”

“With….with…bribery,” Hermione motioned in the air, arms throw out. She was building up quite an indignant bluster. “Bribery and catnip and, and…stuff” she finished lamely before sighing and pouring two large glasses of wine.

Draco smirked. “Bribe your cat? Have you officially become that crazy cat lady we’ve been warning you about?”

She blushed, took a sip of wine then bent past Draco to pick up his abandoned groceries. She smiled as she caught glimpses of the stuffed dates. “No, I’m not crazy. It’s just…I’ve had Crookshanks for ten years and he’s never greeted anyone like that before. I barely get a sniff and a push from him these days.”

Suddenly Draco felt like the lowest pond scum on earth. He didn’t want Hermione to be jealous of his friendship with her cat. She’s supposed to coo and sigh and hug them and then kiss him and possibly shag him. His plan was going rather pear shaped. He had to salvage it and quickly.

“I guess he’s a little upset with you for leaving him at home.”

“You two bonded while I was away. I can see it. He prefers you more now.” She said it quietly, as if her heart was breaking just a little.

Draco awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. “There, there. Um…it’s okay.”

“It’s okay when your pet hates you?” she pushed past him and the cat and slumped onto the couch, utterly defeated. 

“The cat doesn’t hate you. He’s just…getting used to having you around again.” He picked up the second glass of wine and joined Hermione on the couch. The cat stayed in Draco’s arms, kneading against his chest. Draco shrugged to dislocate the furball, but it held fast. He admitted defeat and drank some wine.

“So, how was your holiday, besides choosing to grill yourself under the sun?” he asked, trying to lighten the suddenly mellow mood.

Hermione sighed, pulled her legs up onto the couch so that her toes lightly grazed against his thigh and sipped some wine, gathering her thoughts. “My parents renewed their vows.”

“I’d like to say congratulations, but I’m assuming by the grimace on your face, it’d be the wrong thing to say,” Draco’s hand had drifted to the thick pelt of the cat and was softly rubbing along its neck. Hermione looked down at his hand and a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

“Congratulations is the right word.” She sighed and drank more wine. “Maybe I should buy another cat.”

Draco paled. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Well, obviously Crookshanks has moved on, so I want to get another one. A nice one, that’ll want to cuddle with me.” She blushed and looked down at her lap.

Draco could feel his temper rising with her self-pitying act.

“Now granger, that’s just the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. People who resort to buying cuddly pets are cowards.”

“Excuse me?”

“So Dean broke up with you? So what? He was a wanker to begin with.”

“Malfoy that’s really-“

“That’s no reason to give up on looking for the perfect match. You want what your folks have. I understand that. Hell, I even envy it. Don’t you dare buy another pet for this hole in the wall you call a flat.” He picked up Imposter Crookshanks and dumped him onto Hermione’s lap, much to the cat’s consternation and Hermione’s confusion. He stormed to the door, pulling it open with unnecessary force before pausing to look back at her.

“You know Granger, people are really good at cuddling too. Don’t rule out a whole species due to a few losers.”

With that he slammed the door closed and Disapparated home.

***

Draco avoided the office for the next week, choosing assignments all over the country and typing them up at home, much to Blaise’s consternation.

Hermione kept trying to bond with Crookshanks 2.0, but every night he’d go sit near the front door and watch it. Occasionally he’d glare at her over his shoulder before pawing softly at the wood.

“I miss him too,” she sighed.

***

Hermione woke up to the snarling and mewling of two cats fighting. At first she thought it was two alley cats going at it in the street below until she heard the unmistakable thump of books hitting the floor.

She jumped out of bed, wand at the ready.

“Petrificus totalus!” 

Two ginger furballs froze in mid-fight, wrapped around eachother, growling threateningly.

Hermione walked over to the cats and took a closer look. They were almost identical. She gently pried them apart and set them on her couch.

“Crookshanks?” she looked from one to the other. It was uncanny. How did an identical cat wander its way into her flat?

A thought crossed her mind, only to disappear in a puff of smoke. “That’s the most ridiculous thing. Malfoy had nothing to do with this.”

One of the cats tried to meow. Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Or did he?”

Grabbing the two cats, she Apparated to his flat.

***

Draco was spread out on his bed, fast asleep, snoring softly. Hermione stalked in from the living room and dumped the two cats on his bare chest.

He woke up with a start. “What the hell?” he took in the two frozen cats and the bushy haired hellion that dumped them on him.

“Care to explain something, Malfoy?” her arms were crossed and she was tapping her foot.

“It’s not what it looks like?” he tried feebly.

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” Blaise had heard Hermione appear and was currently lounging against the bedroom doorframe.

“Sod off Zabini!” Draco glared at him, but Blaise carried on, unperturbed.

“This miscreant roommate of mine killed your cat. He bought one to replace it. He’s utterly besotted with you, which explains the irrational behaviour. Now kiss him and live happily ever after or put him out of his misery and bugger off out of his life.”

With that, he ambled back to his room and the vivacious red head that awaited him.

Hermione stood there gaping at Draco as he tried to force the ground to open up and swallow him.

“You killed my cat?” she raised her wand.

“Now now granger, it’s not…it was an accident. He hit a shelf and there was no pulse. But the body disappeared before I could bury him.”

“You irresponsible,” she descended on him, fists flying “no good, lazy, stupid man!”

Draco rolled out of the bed away from her, hoping the size of the bed would be sufficient cover from her attack.

“Now, Granger, listen. It was an accident. And by the looks of the cat there, I think he just pulled a fast one on me. He’s still alive, see?” Hermione jumped onto the bed and launched herself at him, hands reaching for his neck.

“You bastard. Complete and utter tosspot wanker! How can you do that? I thought my cat hated me!”

He dodged to the side and ran out of the room. Hermione was hot on his heels.

The cats stayed frozen on the bed. Crookshanks 2.0 had fallen over on his side.

Hermione chased him into the living room. With nowhere else to hide, Draco turned and stood his ground, grabbing her wrists as she pounced on him. The momentum pushed them both onto the couch.

“Granger! Granger! Calm the fuck down.” He said, keeping her fingers away from his eyes. His grip was strong, but not bruising.

“You lied to me. You stood there and lied to my face and made me feel like a bad mother.” She began to cry.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He felt her body relax, her face buried in his neck, tears stinging his skin.

“It was a stupid thing to do,” she said, pulling her hands free and smacking him softly against the ribs.

“I know. I panicked. I didn’t want to you to come home to an empty flat. So I thought, a different cat is better than no cat at all.” He gently wrapped his arms around her and revelled in the feeling of her lying on top of him, squashed into the limited space of the couch. Her hair tickled his chin and nose.

Just as he was beginning to enjoy the curves pressed against him, Hermione pushed herself away and stood up, wiping at her eyes.

“I’m taking Crookshanks home. You can keep the other cat.” She disappeared into his room.

After a few minutes, Draco began to worry that she had found his closet and was cutting up his favourite suit. He got up and went to his room.

Hermione was standing over the two cats, frown marring her face, lips pursed. 

Without a word, Draco reached for the proper Crookshanks and handed him to her. He nodded at her confusion and gestured for her to leave his room. Once he heard the pop of Disapparation, he unfroze the cat, crawled under the covers and tried to go back to sleep. The cat shook itself and settled with its head on his hip. 

***

At work the next day, Hermione confronted Draco in the kitchen as he was making a much needed cup of coffee.

“How did you know which one was Crookshanks?” she asked, blocking the doorway and his only chance of an exit.

He stirred sugar into his coffee and took a tentative sip. He grimaced at the taste and added another two teaspoons of sugar. Hermione began to tap her foot.

“Malfoy,” she reached for his mug. He swayed away from her, clutching it to his chest. “Answer me!”

Draco clenched his jaw.

“Look, I’m sorry I bombarded you last night. I may have freaked out. A little.”

He huffed a laugh.

“Okay,” she rolled her eyes. “Maybe a little more than that. But seriously. How could you tell them apart?”

“Crookshanks has a small green spot in the iris of his right eye.” He said.

“Rubbish. No one knows that!”

“I do. I saw it when I first met him. I pay attention to details Granger, it’s my job.”

He sipped at his coffee.

“Look, I’m sorry. I realise you meant to do a nice thing in your own twisted Slytherin way.”

“Actually, it was Blaise’s idea.”

“It’s always his idea, isn’t it? You’re not going to accept responsibility for your part in actually going through with it?” she snapped.

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry I thought I murdered your cat? I’m sorry I tried to help you by replacing it? I’m sorry I have this stupid crush on you that makes thinking logically around you very very hard?”

“You really have a crush on me?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Draco swept his right arm around, leaving it to rest on the counter. “Which piece of evidence do you want to examine first?”

She frowned, focusing on the cup of coffee he held. She then gave a quick nod, took the cup from his hand and carefully placed it on the counter. She then stepped into his personal space and tilted her head up to look him in the eye.

Going up on her toes, she gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

“Thank you for trying your best to look after my cat.”

She turned to leave, but he caught her elbow and turned her back towards him, lowering his head and catching her in a breathtaking kiss. When they finally came up for air, Draco took in the sight of her swollen lips, mussed hair and rapid breathing.

“Dinner,” he blurted.

“What?” She whispered.

“Please don’t make me say it? I’m pants at this asking girls out thing.”

Hermione smiled. “Malfoy, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

He smiled and nodded before pulling her into another kiss.

Reluctantly she broke the kiss and pushed herself away. “Seven o’clock. My flat.” Then she disappeared back into the office.

The end.

***

Epilogue

“I had no idea you were so bendy,” he gasped between breaths as Hermione slid over to lie next to him.

“To be honest, neither did I,” she gasped back, breathing heavily.

They caught each other’s eye and burst out laughing. He rolled over and claimed another kiss from her.

“I have a confession to make,” he said, gently pushing some stray strands of hair from her face, “I…that…it…you…”

“Did I break your brain?” She smiled up at him.

“Almost,” he returned the smile. “You…you’re my first.”

She smirked. “I could tell.”

“That’s not very nice.” He nipped at her shoulder.

“Malfoy, once I’ve regained control over my limbs, I’m going to introduce you to something called foreplay.”

He began to tickle her.

And in the living room, cozy on the couch, lay two ginger cats, fast asleep.

 


End file.
